


for just a moment, never ours

by fits_in_frames



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-09
Updated: 2007-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-21 12:04:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1549835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fits_in_frames/pseuds/fits_in_frames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They let him sit with Dad while Sammy fills out paperwork using false names.</p>
            </blockquote>





	for just a moment, never ours

**Author's Note:**

> _worldly boundaries of dying_  
>  _were, for just a moment, never ours_  
>  {rufus wainwright // in a graveyard}  
> 
> 
> Coda to "In My Time of Dying". Written in memory of my uncle who passed in March 2007.

They let him sit with Dad while Sammy fills out paperwork using false names. His chest still hurts from the paddles, he can't quite feel his toes, and his stomach is all in knots. He wraps himself in a blanket and sits in the surprisingly uncomfortable armchair and just watches his father's body, covered in a white sheet, for what seems like hours before he stands up, shakily, and leans on the foot of the bed.

He glances out the window in the door of the room: Sam is pausing every few seconds to wipe his nose or rub his eye, and one of the nurses has a hand on his back. He's so glad that's not him; he would probably kick the ass of anyone who tried to comfort him, even if she is pretty hot. (He's already been half-tempted to take a swing at Sam, and that scares the fuck out of him.) And then he looks back at Dad, or what's left of him, anyway.

He wants to do so many things. He wants to yell obscenities and punch a hole in the wall and smash all the glass in the room and slap his father's dead face. He wants to grab Sammy and hop a bus to Bobby's and rebuild the car and get the fuck out of the state. He wants to stub his toe on the leg of the bed or bang his head against the tile floor or _something_ , anything, just so he can feel something other than this heavy emptiness that's slowly expanding in his chest. And then he remembers that his joints ache and he's lightheaded and goddammit, why doesn't Sammy hurry the fuck up so they can get out of here. It's only when Sammy calls his name from the doorframe (quietly, with no inflection in his voice, sounding just like Mom's ghost back in Lawrence) that he realizes his knuckles are white from gripping the bed frame. He looks up at Sam, whose face is all contorted from injury and grief, and doesn't say anything.

"They said we could take him in two hours. They need to process the paperwork." The hot nurse is behind him, her hand still on his arm.

He looks back at Dad and grunts in acknowledgment.

"Do you want to stay with him?" the nurse asks.

He grunts again, and hobbles over to the chair, pulls the blanket around his body.

Sam thanks her and she leaves with a final friendly pat. He pulls up a chair--a hard one, made of sterile plastic and cool metal--next to Dean. There's a few minutes of silence, and he can tell that Sam is uncomfortable in places other than his tailbone by the way he sighs--as if he's trying speak, but the signals get crossed halfway between his brain and his tongue. After what could be ten minutes or an hour, Sam says, "Do you want to--"

"No," Dean says without moving.

They sit there for a long time, longer than two hours, and they don't speak another word except when Sammy offers to get him coffee. He doesn't answer for fear that if he opens his mouth the words resting on the back of his tongue--they aren't words, really, not yet, just vague word-like shapes that resemble swears Dad used when he came home from hunts--will surface. So Sammy gets coffee and drinks it and paces around the room, and Dean sits with his mouth shut and sour, waiting for something to happen. Nothing does.


End file.
